Author: Nan Jones

Her tawny feathers plumped out to protect her against the chill of an early October morning. She sat perched on the edge of my bird feeder, waiting for her morning meal. The sun began its slow ascent over the mountain ridge and the day began to brighten. A misty shroud hovered over the lower yard near the creek, softening the shadows lingering from the night.

Even though my mind felt a thousand miles away, the cardinal remained still. Poised. Assured that the hand that feeds her would come.